


The Fruits of Victory

by Karari



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Dysfunctional Relationships, Hate Sex, Jealousy, M/M, Sibling Incest, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-13
Updated: 2017-08-13
Packaged: 2018-12-14 15:05:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11785677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Karari/pseuds/Karari
Summary: Elros doesn't like Maedhros, and likes him even less when he sees something he shoulnd't have.





	The Fruits of Victory

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alikuu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alikuu/gifts).



“Shouldn't you be out with Maglor and your brother?” Maedhros said, spotting Elros in the courtyard next to the stables.

Elros cast him a sidelong glance: the less he saw of Maedhros, the better. He had hoped to avoid him by lingering around the stables – he loved horses – doing nothing in particular, idling in fact, absorbed in his thoughts and hopes for the future. 

“I didn't feel like going with them. It's too warm a day.”

“Discipline is of the utmost importance, you should not slack,” Maedhros said, coming closer.

Elros didn't like his tone, didn't like what he said. He liked it even less when Maedhros spoke of him and his brother, and acted like he knew what was best for them, like he had any right to control their lives. 

“You are not my King,” he spat, with perhaps more acrimony than was warranted by the situation.

Maedhros' retort was on par. “You are living under my roof.”

“I never asked to.”

“I never asked to have you, either.”

“Then you should not have attacked my home, Lord.”

“If your mother had returned that which belongs to me, I would not have.”

Elros felt anger seize his breast like the claws of a beast. He whipped around to face Maedhros with the full force of his outrage. “So it is my mother's fault?” he burst out, attracting the attention of passing soldiers and grooms. “She did well! She did well to keep the Silmaril from you!”

Maedhros stiffened, but his demeanour didn't change beyond that. “I wonder if she enjoys the fruits of her victory, even without the two of you.”

“She is surely better off than you. You -... you will never see a Silmaril again.”

“Your mother will certainly never see you again.” 

Elros took several deep breaths, his eyes boring into Maedhros'. “I heard, you know. Maglor told me. The Valar are winning the war against Morgoth. They will win the Silmarils back and take them back to Valinor, and you and your father and your brothers will have nothing. Nothing! Save death and despair. And pain, pain for eternity, the same my mother felt, the same I feel!”

Maedhros gritted his teeth, his eyes blazed. A flash of rage. Elros rejoiced, and laughed out loud, proud to be like his mother, to rebuff Maedhros like her. But Maedhros' rage was short-lived. His marred face relaxed and his bright bright eyes settled into an unforgiving, purposeful stare.

“Tie him,” he ordered to the closest soldiers, gesturing with his stump towards the stables. The soldiers were surprised, but their movements weren't hampered by their surprise. They caught Elros by his arms, easily restraining him between themselves when he attempted to struggle. They tied his wrists together, with a length of rope one of the grooms readily passed them, and used the same rope to tie him to the wall just inside the stables. 

“Expose his back,” Maedhros ordered, while he took a riding crop from a nearby hook. 

Elros felt himself blanch, and a wave of anger washed over his short-lived triumph. “You can't -”

His words were swallowed by the sound of his shirt being ripped apart, from the neck down to the hem. The soldiers cut the dangling fabric away, leaving his back bare. Elros' heart began to thunder in his chest, anger quickly replaced by fear in turn. 

Maedhros didn't spare his strength. The blows were excruciating from the very start, each dealt with force and precision. Elros tried to focus on counting them at first, to memorize the number, and curse Maedhros as many times, later, but he the pain surged like a flame and it enveloped his back, his whole body, and his mind. He shut his mouth tight not to scream, but whimpers and choked sobs escaped him after every blow. He saw Maedhros' face before his eyes – the flash of rage and then the cold, merciless calm like the foreboding stillness before a storm. He writhed involuntarily, trying to get away from the whip and away from the pain, but Maedhros caught him unfailingly, hitting him in a pattern to make every hit more excruciating than the one it followed, as if he had plenty of experience doing it. 

He lost count long before it was over, before trickles of wetness started running down his back, running over more broken skin and over raised burning welts.

“That should be enough,” Maedhros said, barely out of breath, but just as Elros was about to heave a sigh of relief, he dealt him one last blow that made Elros scream, a single shrill cry that tore through the air and made the few horses in their boxes shuffle around nervously.

The soldier who had tied the last knot made to untie Elros.

“No, leave him here,” Maedhros said, holding the riding crop close to Elros's pulsating back, as if he wanted to draw attention to the marks, as if they had been roads on a map. 

“But –”

“He thinks he knows pain. He needs to learn he doesn't.”

Elros remained hanging from the bindings that fastened him to the wall for most of the day. He got no water and no food, no-one tended to his broken back. Stable hands and riders came and went. Some cast him glances – some pitiful, some mocking – others didn't even turn in his direction. Elros forced himself not to turn either. He didn't want to ask any of them for help, he would sooner swoon and even die rather than ask any of them anything. Besides, he could not give in to the hope that they would untie him. 

He was almost unconscious when Maglor and Elrond came back, but Maglor's voice was loud enough to make it through to him when Maglor entered the stables. Maedhros was with him, his slightly uneven gait unmistakable. Maglor sounded angry, very angry, and that made Elros smirk even though he couldn't force his face muscles to move his lips. The strain on his arms and on his shoulder joints had made tears run down his cheeks, and his teeth were gritted in a desperate effort to bear it all with dignity. 

“Don't worry, you will be released immediately,” Maglor whispered in his ear, while somebody else's hands – Elros hoped they weren't his twin's – untied the knot securing him to the hook in the wall. 

As his body fell into Maglor's waiting arms, Elros allowed himself to pass out. 

When he came to, he was lying face down on a bed. His back was still a single stinging flame and every muscle in his body hurt. He was hot, sweaty and weak, his stomach knotted with tension and hunger, his throat parched. 

Slowly, groggily, he tried to look around. It didn't take him long to realize, to his horror, was that he wasn't in his room. Alarmed, he tried to raise his head and look around. 

His eyes landed on Maedhros, tall and forbidding even sitting on an armchair next to the bed. 

“How are you feeling?”

Elros bit the inside of his mouth in a natural reflex, his hands clawed the sides of his pillow: he must be in Maedhros' own room. Maedhros had apparently watched over him during the night, and taken his rest there on the armchair next to him. 

Without giving him time to process his situation, Maedhros stood and Elros tensed even more. 

Maedhros yanked the covers away from him and pulled the piece of cloth covering his back. Elros noted the dark blotches on it, some brighter some darker, as Maedhros put it on the small bedside table. He didn't miss a movement while Maedhros meticulously dipped a clean cloth in a large shallow bowl, and strained his ears when Maedhros sat on the bed, out of Elros' sight but so close to him their thighs touched. 

“I promise you won't scar,” Maedhros said, gently brushing his back with the cloth. The words sounded like a jab, a ruthlessly calculated one: the salve made the pain twice as intense. Elros caught his lower lip between his teeth, his sore eyes filling with tears again. “But you will remember this suffering, and perhaps learn a thing or two.”

“...hate you.”

Maedhros snickered, but it wasn't as disdainful as it could have been. “Save your strength.”

After he had covered him again, Maedhros nudged him with his stump. Elros complied more to escape the touch than out of a desire to obey Maedhros, but he was grateful for the water Maedhros brought to his lips. 

“You will stay here, for as long as you need to recover.”

“Why?”

“I told you. I may not be your king but I am the king in these quarters, and you are under my responsibility, whether we like it or not.”

Elros' stay in Maedhros' quarters turned out to be not as bad as he feared. Maedhros was away for most of the day, and in the evening Elrond was allowed to come visit him and feed him, too. At night, when Maedhros retired, Elros was asleep or pretended to be asleep in order not to talk to him.

A few days later, when turning on his back was still uncomfortable but not unbearable, he saw them. 

It wasn't fully light yet, and the rising sun was pale behind the curtains drawn over the one small window of the room. He woke grimacing, plunged from a restless dream into the discomfort born of a night spent lying stiffly on his side. He heard them before he saw them, but the sounds and the few broken words intermingled with them were enough for him to guess what was going on. 

He turned slowly, until his gaze spanned the room on the opposite side of the bed, where Maedhros' desk was and his few remaining possession were stacked. He saw Maedhros' profile. His head was thrown back, his angular features standing out . His only hand was laid on Maglor's head, partially covering his brother's hair. What Elros could see of Maglor's head was enough. More than enough. There was little doubt what Maglor was doing, kneeling between his brother's legs, his face buried in Maedhros' crotch, his voice – the voice Elros had learned to know so well – muffled in gurgles and sucking sounds.

“Yes, brother, yes, like that,” Maedhros praised him in a lustful hiss.

Elros burned. He couldn't tear his gaze away from the sight in front of him. He drew the covers up to his nose, until his eyes barely peeked above them, and watched, watched as Maedhros took pleasure out of sullying his brother. Maglor wasn't like him. It was obvious that he was doing what he was doing only because Maedhros was the elder, and the leader of that wretched band of murderers, as Maedhros himself liked to remind him. Maglor did it because he couldn't disobey. Maedhros was the foul one, the one who had given the order to attack the Havens, the one who had the gall to insult his mother, the one who tried to control Elros and his twin. 

Elros watched, burning with anger, disgust, and jealousy. 

Maglor wasn't a parent to him, but he was the closest to a parent Elros and Elrond had. Maglor loved them, he was their only friend and their mentor.

Maedhros pulled his brother's head back, almost pulling him off his cock, revealing the whole engorged length of his organ. Maglor's lips were stretched to a thin, wet line around his brother and they slid along his shaft. His throat quivered, his eyes were wet. It was obvious he was in some discomfort, but Maedhros seemed not to care, and plunged back in, until Maglor's lips almost touched his crotch.

He came down his brother's throat, denying him the possibility to spit out his release, forcing him to drink it all. 

Elros felt his outrage must be plain on his face, and wondered how Maedhros could not notice it when he checked on him later that morning, after a servant brought them both breakfast. Maedhros inspected his back, and told him blithely that he was almost healed and could go back to his room and sleep in his own bed. 

The sordid affair between the brothers filled Elros' mind in the subsequent days. He didn't have the heart to talk to Maglor about it, but he felt he had to do something about it. He found out that Maedhros often sent for his brother in the early day and late evening, and that sometimes he kept Maglor in his room until daybreak. Elros' disgust only grew: Maedhros had very likely summoned Maglor to his room and forced himself on him while Elros was lying unconscious in his bed. 

Elros had to put a stop to it. Elrond advised him not to meddle in what the brothers did, that Maglor wasn't meant to stay with them anyway, and that it would be better for him to be ready to let go of him. 

Of course it was, Elros didn't need to be told.

The servant carrying Maedhros' message approached the room where Maglor had had his dinner with an air of boredom – Maglor had never dined with Maedhros after what he had done to Elros, electing to do it with the twins instead. The man was easy to spot when you knew to look for him. Elros intercepted him, and promised with all the grace he could muster that he would relay the message to Maglor, who was still having a lively discussion with Elrond and didn't look like he would be done with it anytime soon.

He headed hastily to Maedhros' room, and entered without knocking. The guards posted at the end of the hall weren't there yet, they would after the trumpet sounded the tenth hour. He had plenty of time.

Maedhros was sitting in the high-backed chair, the one where he he had been sitting when Maglor pleasured him. Elros met his gaze and wavered for a moment.  
“I sent for Maglor,” Maedhros said dully.

Elros steadied himself and closed the door behind him. He turned and surveyed the room as if it had been a battlefield. The covers were thrown back on the bed, ready to welcome a sleeper or a pair of lovers. A fire crackled in the small fireplace at the far end of the room, and two glasses stood on the desk, next to an half empty bottle.

“He won't come,” Elros said with glee.

“Won't he?” Maedhros shot back, dryly, affecting disinterest. Then he gave a lopsided smirk and waved his hand. “Be gone. I certainly do not need you.”

“Why not? Am I not pretty enough to satisfy you?” Elros wet his lips. “I know you force your lust on your subordinates when you can't have your brother...Lord.”

Maedhros still smirked, but regarded him carefully: Elros had his full attention.

“So I do, so I do,” he said finally. “You wish to submit to me and be a receptacle for my lust...son of Elwing?”

Elros had to bite back an insult. “I believe I am more than suited to the task.”

“You do?”

“I do.”

“As you desire, then.” Maedhros sat up on the chair, all large shoulders and spindly legs, un-elf-like, almost. “Undress.”

Elros didn't allow himself to falter, even though he had not been expecting that. He started unbuckling his belt. Being fucked in the ass was probably better than taking Maedhros' cock in his mouth, he mused, except for the fact that he had never had anything shoved up his ass. Undressing in itself was not too much of a problem; Maedhros had seen him naked while he was sick, had even helped him relieve himself. He didn't really mind getting naked. He was conscious of his own beauty, of the combined grace and strength he had inherited from both his mother and his father's lines, though it was hard to think of his father's family at times, because it was Maedhros' too, if one went far enough up the family tree.

While he took off his shirt, Maedhros took out his large veiny cock, intimidating even if only half-hard, then he uncapped a vial, holding it in place between his thighs. He let a slow thick trickle of something sweet-smelling ooze on the head of his organ from it. 

“Get ready,” he said, when Elros stood naked across from him, tossing the vial at him. Elros looked at the tiny glass bottle in his hands, stained on the outside from years of use. “No need to be coy now.”

The liquid was surprisingly heavy on his fingers, and Elros spared some time to gauge its consistency and smell. Then he bent forward a little, blushing as he did so. Slipping a finger inside himself was easy enough. The second took some concentration, and it was a while before he could add a third.

“Don't worry too much about stretching yourself.” Maedhros looked at him, half intent half curious, idly moving his hand up and down his now fully erect organ. “Just make sure to oil yourself up properly.”

There was enough space on the armchair for Elros kneel astride Maedhros when Maedhros called 'come here' and waited for him to comply with a self-satisfied smirk. Maedhros grasped his right buttcheek, squeezing it painfully before slipping a finger inside his ass, while his stump circled him and trapped him against Maedhros' chest. 

Elros' cock, which had stirred somewhat while he fingered himself, nudged Maedhros' chest. The head of Maedhros' cock nudged his opening, and Elros hastily, and a little dazedly, braced himself with his hands on Maedhros' shoulders.

It happened fast, and Elros was grateful for it. Maedhros breached him without hesitation, and stopped just long enough to allow him to catch his breath and not choke on the whimper that crawled up his neck. Maedhros stopped several times more while he penetrated him, but never for too long. Elros tensed and writhed and tried to escape Maedhros' hold, but Maedhros was unrelenting.

“I hate you,” Elros said, balancing himself on trembling legs. Maedhros' cock felt like it could reach far too deep inside him. 

“It is mutual,” said Maedhros, who could afford to sound a little elated: the penetration was clearly very pleasurable for him.

Elros remained tense while Maedhros started moving, his thighs strained to hold his weight. He didn't trust himself to sit back and relax, he didn't _want_ to relax too much.

Maedhros licked the side of his neck, his wine-scented breath reached Elros' nostrils. “You think you can take Maglor away from me, don't you? You think you can drive us apart.”

Elros squeezed his ass muscles, enjoying the moan he wrenched from Maedhros, then moved up while Maedhros was too and bit into Maedhros' shoulders with his nails. “You don't deserve him.” 

“You do?” Maedhros gave a choked laugh. He squeezed Elros' left buttock and held him down while pushing up into him with all his strength. “He pities the two of you. It is his regret he loves.”

“You may be his brother, but you do not know his heart.”

“Maglor's heart belongs to me,” Maedhros hissed. His body jerked upwards, bouncing Elros. The veins on his forehead stood out, rivalling his scars in prominence. “Maglor will never leave me. Never.”

“So you say.” Elros tried to unlace the top of Maedhros' shirt while he passively rode him, but Maedhros batted his hands away, and gave him a warning look. 

Elros didn't try again. He had seen Maedhros half-naked once before, when Elrond and he were still very young. Maglor had taken them to a nearby lake on a clear day after orcs had been chased from the hills, to teach them to swim. Maedhros was strong, and could hold a child, even a big child, steadily and carefully against his chest even with only one hand. 

A realization struck Elros, while Maedhros' cock moved inside him: Maedhros knew everything there was to know about him, had seen him grow and had shaped his life. He instead knew very little of Maedhros, of his past life, apart from what he had done, from the scant tales he remembered his mother and nurses telling him to scare him into obeying them, from the scraps of information Maglor passed on to them. And here he was now, having sex with him, and not being allowed to even touch him directly, skin to skin. It seemed to him one further injustice.

“You don't know anything,” Maedhros said breathlessly, his cock sliding forcefully up Elros' insides.

Elros put his hands on his shoulders again, and slammed his head back, catching his mouth in a bruising kiss, at the end of which Maedhros' lips were blood-stained. 

In an instant, Maedhros looked like a completely different person, or like a beast, driven mad by fear. He wrapped his hand around Elros' neck, his thumb pressing into his windpipe, and used that to push him off his cock. Elros' legs failed to properly support him, and Maedhros had an easy time of catching his braid and pulling and shoving him towards the table. Elros landed face down on it, and barely had time to brace himself before Maedhros penetrated him again, one long shove that jolted Elros' whole body forward. The bottle toppled right before his face, and wine poured on the table. The smell of it tickled Elros' nostrils while Maedhros pounded into him with his hand around his nape to hold him down. The edge of the table bit into his body whenever Maedhros sheathed himself to the hilt yet again, and held him like that for a moment before pulling back. 

He tried to distract himself by wondering whether Maedhros did that to Maglor too, if he ever got angry with him, and looked at him like he wasn't even an elf, and fucked him muttering words that all sounded the same, but thoughts were hard to cling to when his body was being so thoroughly overpowered by sensations. His own cock was hard and dripping precome, but he was far from release when Maedhros filled him with hot hideous seed.

When he was dressed and already heading for the door, eager to leave, Maedhros' voice stopped him.

“I could have hurt you, now, sent you limping from this room.”

“Do you want me to thank you for your generosity?”

“I could have killed you, back then,” Maedhros went on, and drew a hand over his face, “I wanted to throw you both from the cliff, after your mother, let her enjoy the fruits of her victory in full.”

They stared at each other, Maedhros sitting calmly in the chair once again, Elros standing next to the room, and the room between them like an abyss.

“Do not doubt. I will take the Silmarils back, if it is the last thing I do. And Maglor will be with me.”

“What will be the fruits of _your_ victory?” 

“Do you not want to meet your mother again?”

“It is –”

“Not the same? But it is,” Maedhros nodded his head, nodded in fact with his whole body almost. “It is.”

“...I will be praying you won't.”

“I did not doubt that,” Maedhros took one of the glasses and poured himself what was left of the wine. Elros waited, but he was already out of Maedhros' thoughts because Maedhros turned and, looking into the flames of the fireplace, muttered. “No one else will have them, if not us.”

Elros opened the door and closed it softly behind himself.


End file.
